


Driven Up The Wall

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Prompt Fill, angry wall sex, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Great, and now you’re ignoring me.” John tugged his coat off, throwing it on his chair. The place was such a disaster, it didn’t even seem worth the effort to hang it up.</p>
<p>“And yet you’re still talking.” Sherlock pointed out mildly, sipping somewhat daintily from a bottle of beer. John’s bottle of beer. John’s last bottle of beer. His to-hell-with-this-I’ve-had-a-shit-day-I-deserve-to-indulge bottle of beer. Sherlock didn’t even drink when he was at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driven Up The Wall

“Look at this fucking mess!” John snapped, kicking at a pile of newspapers.

Sherlock barely glanced up from whatever he was doing with his mobile. He grunted quietly, stepping over the mound of books that had developed near the sofa. He picked his way through the chaos, working toward the kitchen.

“Great, and now you’re ignoring me.” John tugged his coat off, throwing it on his chair. The place was such a disaster, it didn’t even seem worth the effort to hang it up.

“And yet you’re still talking.” Sherlock pointed out mildly, sipping somewhat daintily from a bottle of beer. John’s bottle of beer. John’s  _last_  bottle of beer. His to-hell-with-this-I’ve-had-a-shit-day-I-deserve-to-indulge bottle of beer. Sherlock didn’t even drink when he was at home.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” He asked, his voice dark and calm.

Raising a thick eyebrow, Sherlock looked at the bottle in his hand. He swirled the contents. A rich white head burbled out of the lip of the bottle, spilling over the detective’s fingers. “I should have thought it was obvious.” He said, switching the bottle to his other hand before raising his fingers to his lips. The genius then proceeded to slowly, deliberately  _lick_  his impossibly long pale digits clean.

When he slid his middle- and ring-fingers into his mouth to the knuckle, and drew back, his cheeks hollowed. And John attacked.

“Stupid…” he smacked the bottle from Sherlock’s hand. It dropped to the floor and rolled away, foam spewing out on the carpet. “Arrogant…” He wrapped his small hand around the other man’s scarf, twisting it and pulling him close. “Insufferable…” With a shove, and a grunt, he slammed Sherlock against the wall, pinning him there with his hips. “Prick!” He surged up on his toes, invading Sherlock’s heart shaped lips with his tongue.

Sherlock groaned at the intrusion, opening his mouth eagerly. John’s hand was still clutching his scarf, so Sherlock dipped his hands between them to fumble at their belts. The soldier was already leaking when his erection sprang free of his trousers and pants. Very little patience, and a great deal of frustration, meant he only shoved the clothes low enough that the waistband of John’s sensible grey cotton boxer-briefs tucked up under his bollocks.

The moment those warm, still saliva-dampened fingers stroked up the length of him, John knew he was done for. He kicked Sherlock’s legs apart, as far as the trousers clinging to his thighs would allow. He was naked underneath. John rested his head on his lover’s collarbone, looking down to watch them slide, slick and glossy from pre-come, against each other. “Not gonna last.” He slurred, twisting his grip on the scarf a little tighter. He reached his hand up, brushing over the pulse, tripping away in that beautifully long expanse of throat. Sherlock couldn’t fake that. He could feign disinterest, pretend he was above the desires of his flesh, but his body always betrayed him.

John was enormously proud that  _he_  was the only living human that got Sherlock’s pulse racing, as if he was on a particularly compelling case.

Reaching his free hand down to join the effort, John swiped his thumb through the milky fluid drooling from Sherlock’s cock. They fit so well, side by side. Sherlock was long and slim, with a noticeable upward curve-perfect for taking John from behind to hit all the right places. John was shorter, but a good deal thicker- ideal for stretching out a plump rump while face to face, legs wrapped around his sturdy waist. “Fu- Oh Christ, love, I’m getting close.” He rose up on the balls of his feet, his hips pumping.

“Hurry  _up!_ ” Sherlock snapped, throwing his head back to put more tension on his scarf. It cut off his air, just enough for his orgasm to rip through him. He grasped desperately at John’s broad shoulders, and low keening wail pushing past his lips as he splashed onto John’s stomach.

Eyes still open, John watched as pearly semen coated his skin. He let go, setting both hands on the wall as he thrust roughly into the smooth dip of his love’s hip. He snarled out Sherlock’s name like it was an obscene curse before he came with a violent shudder and a soft cry.

Together they staggered over to the sofa, shedding stained clothing along the way. Sherlock grinned to see the red line across both of John’s arse cheeks from the band of his pants. They mopped each other up, and cuddled close, breathing heavily.

“Next time…” John groaned, scrubbing at a bit of come already drying into the hair around his navel. “Just tell me you want sex. Don’t drive me up the wall first.”

Sherlock leaned his head back on the sofa, trying to blow the sweat damp curls off his forehead. “This way was more fun.”


End file.
